


A Sellsword's Heaven

by Cerdic519



Series: Sellsword Stories [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brome - Freeform, Bronn's three wishes, Castles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Death from Old Age, Dildos, Embarrassment, Gay Sex, Harnesses, Heaven, Horseback Riding, Justice, Love, M/M, Multi, Panties, Restraints, Slightly Out Of Character, Swearing, Swimming Pools, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-11 16:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17450489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Ser Bronn of Blackwater dies – of old age, incredibly – and faces what comes next. There are one or two very slight surprises.....





	1. Into The Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [King_4aDay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_4aDay/gifts), [wholocker78218](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholocker78218/gifts).



It started out as a day like any other. Bronn hauled himself out of bed, went to his fancy bathroom (the one where he could swing a cat if it had not minded getting brained against all four walls) and lurched back to bed. At his age he had no reason to get up early and..... what the ever loving fuck?

He stared across at his bed. Apparently he was still in it. 

That was the first surprise of the day. The second was that he was not alone. A slender young dark-haired fellow who he had never seen before, looking like some sort of clerk dressed in a close-fitting black outfit, was standing by his fireplace dusting himself off.

“Sorry about that”, the fellow said. “Name's Glen. You're dead by the way.”

Bronn blinked several times, but his body was still in the bed and the guy was looking patiently at him. Fuck it!

“Dead”, Bronn echoed dumbly. “What, and you're the one come to take me to the next world? Shouldn't you be bigger and on a horse? And, you know, with tits?”

Glen smiled.

“Valkyries only come for those who die in battle”, he explained. “That keeps them more than busy enough these days; small fry like me cover the other jobs. It's time to go, Bronn.”

The sellsword felt a moment of regret; Jaime had been due round later and they would have chatted about old times and all that. Well, at least he would likely be the one to find the body. Hopefully he'd lay on a decent funeral.

“He will”, Glen said. “Off we go.”

He reached out and lightly touched Bronn's nightshirt. The sellsword blinked as the world spun around him.

††††††††††

He was standing on.... well, something. It felt weird, and not just the cloud swirling about his legs. He could fell the ground adjusting to his weight almost but not quite immediately, and it disconcerted him. At least he had somehow gotten clothed in his normal get-up; even (much to his surprise) with his trusty sword.

“I am afraid that some of this will come as a shock”, Glen said. “But you are made of stern stuff as they say. Let's start with the obvious.”

There was suddenly a long mirror a few feet away. Bronn looked at it suspiciously but approached and looked into it. It was him all right – him as he had been when he was about thirty. But there was still something not right and he could not put his finger on it.

“This is Heaven”, Glen said softly. “Things here are seen as they are, not as they think they are.”

“What the fuck am I doing here in the first place?” Bronn muttered. “I killed people for a living, remember?”

It struck him a moment too late that he might be talking his way out of something good. Fuck it!

“Yet all the time you had an inherent goodness, as the mirror showed”, Glen said. “I think a small detour before we go in.”

There was suddenly a wooden door standing all by itself – no walls either side – with the words 'Storage Room' on it. It seemed odd to go through a door that he might just as easily have walked round, but even up here (wherever the fuck here was) Bronn was taking no chances. Following Glen through it he found himself in a small room with a desk behind which another clerk of some sort sat, this time dressed in dark blue rather than black and reading some sort of paper. Glen coughed and the fellow looked up.

“Pete”, Glen said, “our latest arrival wants to see why he's here.”

“Some do”, Pete (presumably) agreed putting aside his paper. “Rather more wonder why they don't get in despite being fucking cunts their whole miserable life.”

Bronn blinked in surprise. Whatever he had thought about the next world (not much), swearing had not featured in it.

Pete pulled out something from behind his desk and pressed a few buttons. A mini stage lit up at the far end of the room a massive six feet away, featuring some sort of swingometer thing above a whole set of weirdly coloured bottles of differing sizes. Bronn noticed that the needle was pointing well to the blue right-hand side and also that there was a small golden padlock on it for some reason.

“We judge people on the good and bad that they do”, Pete explained. “All good deeds, no matter how small, push it towards blue and all bad ones towards red. Swings and roundabouts as they say down below.”

“What're the bottles for?” Bronn asked curiously.

“If the marker goes into the dark red zone then the person has little chance of getting in”, Pete explained. “Yours would have been there – as you said, you killed people for a living - but for those twelve bottles. They represent a dozen times when you did something purely good, not just for money but because it was _right_. Each one counters at least ten bad deeds, more depending on the size.”

Bronn felt his hopes rising. 

“So I get to be here”, he said. “Uh, what do I _do_ here?”

“Very little”, Glen said. “Thanks Pete.”

He guided the sellsword out of the room and they walked some little way before they came across a set of ornate golden gates, this time with similar fencing either side of them.

“Heaven is your reward for a good life”, Glen said. “You always said that you wanted three things in your time below; some lands, a castle and someone to love.”

That was not quite how Bronn had described the last of those three but he let it pass. 

“No-one loves a sellsword”, he said quietly.

“That is not true”, Glen said. “You have loved and been loved twice in your time, and one of those two people is here waiting for you. The other still has some of their life to lead below but is certain to join you one day.”

Bronn looked at him in surprise.

“Who?” he asked.

“Me for one.”

An impossibly familiar voice. Bronn spun round and stared in astonishment. Ser Arthur Dayne; tall, dark and as handsome as Bronn remembered him before he had been so cruelly taken before his time.

 _”Dayne?”_

“I always admired you, Bronn”, the dark-haired knight smiled. “Free of responsibilities yet always somehow staying good despite your reputation. If we had had longer.... well, it would have happened you can be sure. But later you found someone else and I was happy for you, watching from up here.”

“Who?” Bronn asked, perplexed.

“Jaime of course”, Arthur smiled. “That the two of you never sealed the deal was a pity, but when he comes here we can remedy that. And in the meantime, I am sure I can... fill in.”

Ser Bronn of Blackwater did not blush. Usually. Glen had gone over to the gates (the sellsword somehow knew he was smirking, the cunt!) and they opened at his approach.

“Your castle and lands await, Bronn”, he said. “You will have to share – but I suspect you will cope with that somehow.”

“Oh I'll cope all right!” Bronn said firmly, taking the younger knight by the arm and leading him through the gates. “Don't call us any time in the next two weeks!”

“As much of a braggart as ever”, Arthur grinned. “Remember that I am the nobleman here.”

“Then let me 'serve' you right, _my liege!”_ Bronn growled.

The two disappeared into a small grey-stoned castle on a hill, from which two banners fluttered from two of the front three towers. Dayne and Blackwater – and some day soon, someone else.

††††††††††


	2. Thanksgiving

Ser Bronn of Blackwater had long taken back his opinion of Kingsguard Ser Arthur Dayne. Far from being a noble and pure knight of the realm, the man was a complete and utter sexual pervert.

Thank the Gods!

On their second day Arthur had taken him to a room that had looked like a cross between a gymnasium and a torture chamber. Bronn had looked around in confusion, wondering why they would need either place when they were, well, dead. The answer, Arthur being Arthur, was for sex.

Thank the Gods again!

The restraints set around the huge open balcony window were for him, as Arthur trussed him up like a turkey and then fucked him long and hard from behind while cruelly holding Bronn's cock and stopping his release until the sellsword was wondering if one could actually die twice! The pommel-horse thing was for Arthur to work his way across and back while impaling his partner, whose spend ended up covering both it and the wooden floor. The rack was not for the usual purposes but for Bronn to massage oil into Arthur while he came just from that (contrary to what he had once thought, it was damn hot to make a man come from the lightest of touches). And the leather contraption was for Arthur to lie suspended in mid-air smirking while Bronn tried to fuck the sass out of him. He hadn't succeeded yet but he was working on it.

The castle even had an indoor lake with heated water, which was something else. Though Bronn rarely got to enjoy it for long because _someone_ insisted they use it naked, and very unfairly kept distracting him with sex. Cunt!

The beds in this place were also something else. Clean and comfortable of the sort that he had thought only nobility like Arthur could have afforded, and the place was so warm that they needed only a light sheet or some weird thing called a 'duvet' while they coupled. They also brought out one of Arthur's stranger little perversions; after coupling he liked to just lie there holding Bronn and whispering how much he loved him, the weirdo.

(Bronn may or may not have liked that just a tiny bit. Not much of course; he was a manly sellsword after all, but he believed in give and take. Which brought him back to that harness and that damn smirk......).

Arthur's worst (or perhaps best) kink was when he had shown Bronn some sort of rubber thing shaped like King Arthur and suggested that the sellsword spend a whole day with it inside of him. Bronn had been unsure but had agreed and Gods, it had felt damn good – right up to the time the cunt had reminded him that they had to ride down into the village! He was sure the people there had been grinning at his discomfiture, and when he had gotten back he had only been capable of more of that holding thing which he only tolerated because he doubted he could get it up for the world.

Another upside; apparently in Heaven he _could_ get it up. Thank the Gods yet again!

††††††††††


	3. Two Masters

They were back in their special room and Bronn was once again tied up at the great window. He had thought wryly that anyone in the village who had a spy-glass would be seeing their liege's sellsword in a whole new light, as Arthur moved around his front for a change.

“I have a surprise for you today”, he grinned. “You've been a _good_ sellsword lately, and I think you will like it.”

“What is it?” Bronn asked.

Two other strong, bare arms suddenly wrapped around his body. Even though he could barely lower his head to see them, he caught sight of faint golden hairs and.... two hands?

“Jaime?” he gasped.

“I finally made it here”, the Kingslayer whispered into his ear. “All those lonely years without you, Bronn. Have you any idea of the amount of times we shared a bed for warmth and I had to sneak out of a morning in case I did something inappropriate?” 

The sellsword shuddered.

“I thought you were ashamed of me”, he admitted. “Nobility sleeping with a commoner.”

“Wanted you so badly”, Jaime muttered, and Bronn could fell that Lannister cock nestling against his crack. “And when I heard you had gone, I threw the whole thing over and went to live in a cottage by myself. Wouldn't come back no matter how much they all begged; I was waiting my time out. For this!”

Bronn's eyes watered as he was breached, Jaime thrusting into him in one smooth movement. Arthur (still smirking, the cunt!) was now spread-eagled across his front, his hand grabbing the base of the sellsword's cock and preventing a release that was going to happen sooner rather than later from the pressure he could feel building. He rolled his head back, and the two knights latched onto opposite sides of his neck and sucked their marks there. Then suddenly Arthur's hand was gone.

The sellsword exploded, his spend forcing its was up between his and Arthur's chests and Jaime continued to whisper his love in his ear. If this was Heaven, Bronn supposed that it was sort of okay. Ish.

Now which way was up again?

††††††††††

Bronn was sure there were few tomatoes redder than his face when he finally rode back into the castle.

“The cunts knew!” he hissed. “You told them!”

Behind him Arthur and Jaime both tried hard to keep straight faces. Both failed by a long, long distance.

“Gossip, Bronn”, Arthur grinned brightly. “Word gets around.”

“That Ser Bronn of Blackwwater would be riding his lands wearing ladies underwear?” Bronn scoffed. “There's no-one in the castle except up three!”

“Are they not comfortable?” Jaime asked innocently.

That was when Bronn made his mistake. He hesitated ever so slightly, and the two knights promptly fell about laughing.

“Cunts!” he muttered as he dismounted and walked inside. Although come to that they were sort of comf....

Dammit!

††††††††††

No man can serve two masters.

Bronn knew the old saying, but it was not true. He served his fellow knights and loved doing it, even if they seemed determined to keep him in a permanent state of sexual exhaustion. The best (or perhaps worst) time had been when they had spent a day what they called 'tag-teaming', tone impaling him while the one resting just sat around reading or writing. As stark naked as the cunt inside of him!

Jaime Lannister for all his reputation also seemed to like the holding thing, and Bronn became resigned to spending many hours sandwiched between the two men in one or other of the beds, not at all blushing as they competed to see how many compliments they could bestow on the sellsword. He really was supremely happy.

“Ever wondered if we could both take him at the same time?” Jaime whispered to Arthur as they held him between them.

Bronn's eyes widened as four arms tightened their grip on him. 

“Fuck!” he exclaimed.

And they did!

FINIS


End file.
